Eyes of an Angel
by technicolor unicorn
Summary: Blaine couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. He didn't know how to react. Before him stood his angel, his one true love, for the first time in four years.   Future!Klaine. Rated for mentions of sex.


**A Klaine oneshot that took me forever to write. I think it turned out decently.**

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><p>Blaine didn't sign up for the art class. His college required a certain number of general artistic courses. Music, art, theatre, dance. The theatre class he signed up for was full, so he was placed in an art class dedicated to creating people.<p>

He shouldn't have minded. He was a talented artist. He had a feel for realism, color, and design. Blaine was a painter, but his inspiration ran away the same day his one true love did.

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><p><em>"Hold still, baby. I just need to get your eyes..." he conducted, his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth in concentration. Upon his canvas was a painting of the most angelic boy he could ever hope to see. The boy was his everything, and he was his subject for the portrait painting required for his Advanced Placement art course his senior year.<em>

_He was struggling. The boy's eyes had such a distinct color, and he couldn't dream of figuring out what it was. The boy had been his subject dozens of times, but each time the eyes were either colorless or nonexistent._

_He came close that day, but he never really did get the eyes._

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><p>The assignment the first week was sketch a loved one. His first instinct was to pull a picture out of his bedside drawer and draw him. He hadn't seen him in four years, yet he still loved him. He was Blaine's one true love.<p>

Five days into the project, Blaine gave up on the sketch. He ended up drawing his brother instead.

He just couldn't draw his eyes. He had the ability to, he knew, but he just couldn't. The emotional attachment and all the memories were much too strong.

He wore long sleeves for the next week until the scars faded, unlike the memories.

On the Monday of the third week of class, the artist announced they would have a model to sketch throughout the remaining five weeks of the quarter. They would draw, paint, sculpt, and color the model

in various poses, ranging from merely the face to fully nude. Blaine tried not to get too excited (sarcasm intended).

The day the modeling was to begin, he arrived early to class. He came to try to work on the drawing of his brother, but he stopped short when he saw the model.

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><p><em>"Baby, please!" he giggled sweetly. "That tickles!" He shook with laughter, trying not to move.<em>

_Blaine merely shook his head, bending down to press a kiss between the boy's bare shoulder blades. He sat upright again and dipped his paintbrush into the black before brushing the paint across the boy's back. Minutes later, a touch of blue, white, yellow, and red were added, and Blaine was finished._

_"I gave you wings," he whispered to him. "You're my angel."_

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><p>Blaine couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. He didn't know how to react. Before him stood his angel, his one true love, for the first time in four years.<p>

The model turned to see who had walked in. The recognition flooded his face immediately.

"Blaine..." the angel breathed. His voice was soft, broken. Blaine looked into his eyes, which were sad.

"Kurt," Blaine whispered, striding forward to embrace the model, who quickly obliged. The two were wrapped up in each other for what felt an eternity, both finally feeling complete again.

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><p><em>The love they had made the previous night almost felt somber. Blaine didn't know why; he had nothing to be upset about.<em>

_"I love you," he whispered to Blaine as he quietly came inside of him. They reveled in the afterglow, falling asleep contently in each other's arms._

_Blaine awoke the next morning to an empty bed. No note, no sign he was ever there._

_His angel was gone._

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><p>"Why?" Blaine murmured over a medium drip to Kurt, who had a nonfat mocha before him. It had been two days since they had been reunited, but it felt as if they were never apart.<p>

"I couldn't let myself hold you back," he admitted weakly. "Your art... Your art is beautiful. I convinced myself that if I were with you, I would be holding you back from reaching your full potential."

Blaine shook his head, prodding the stirrer in his coffee with his forefinger. "Nonsense," he accused. "The only thing that set me back was your leaving."

The following semester, Blaine did sign up for the art class. The third assignment was to create someone, whether it was painting, sculpting, or drawing.

The night after he got the assignment, they made sweet, beautiful love for the first time in four years. It felt as if it was the most right thing he had ever done.

Naturally, he painted his angel for the assignment. It was easier this time. Natural.

This time, he got the eyes perfectly.


End file.
